Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Paradise, artist - Mac. Date of issue: 27.09.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Paradise |
| Yeah I got these motherfucking Warlocks in this biatch |
| So you know its all about that World War 3 Nigga |
| You feel me nigga haha |
| My nigga Sam |
| My nigga Popeye |
| Shout out to my nigga BI-Geezy you off in this bitch |
| Feel it |
| Chorus: (Popeye) |
| My future, my focus, paradise |
| Criminal slash pistol popper toat the badder dice |
| And if I got to be real and sank a clip below my hip to survive |
| I keep the real motherfuckers alive |
| My future, my focus, paradise |
| Criminal slash pistol popper toat the badder dice |
| And if I got to be real and sank a clip below my hip to survive |
| I keep the real motherfuckers alive |
| Verse 1 (Sam): |
| Intentions to leave a coarse, remourse is extinct |
| Niggas murder and lust the course we own is mislink |
| The pack we don’t want it lead to unknowns |
| Like understanding life and why we here and some gone |
| I’m mystified conspicuous eyes vision my glory |
| Camaflouge and wish we hiding side of the hallways |
| The narrow road has followed the battle hole of hollows I spit |
| To keep the real alive to have tommorow |
| Murderer slash real nigga slash ghetto celebrity |
| To often have life and death we hope to never see |
| The destiny of what’s real is my fate to not hate |
| Confusion keep unfolding that the migrates, my Lord |
| Tech to my face, flinching is forbiddin |
| Murder in self-defense, can you blame me for living? |
| Keep the real alive, the fake get famous with death |
| Keep the real seen, bitch niggas are laid to rest |
| Chorus: (Popeye) |
| My future, my focus, paradise |
| Criminal slash pistol popper toat the badder dice |
| And if I got to be real and sank a clip below my hip to survive |
| I keep the real motherfuckers alive |
| My future, my focus, paradise |
| Criminal slash pistol popper toat the badder dice |
| And if I got to be real and sank a clip below my hip to survive |
| I keep the real motherfuckers alive |
| Verse 2: (Popeye): |
| Faster between the streets I held on |
| Promoted through pistols and either elsewhere |
| Silent and helped to hold on for killer that said a self-prayer |
| To walk away beside the lord, siners repent so we divide the sword |
| Behind the tents I mean be riding cars |
| Standing off the roof of a killer, to murder made life |
| Focused than any president living that carry shade ice |
| That live amongst the fallen few, to walk away the day they calling you |
| And freeze the heat when they come crawling through |
| Breathing from the top of it’s lungs, tommorow it will shut down |
| Niggas that held a piece of my heart they never let down |
| Was yet to come before the lord |
| I thought my father supposed to show the card |
| These niggas camaflouge to blow the gaurd |
| Making me a part of the wind, suspend will now hell |
| Everything operated in time to end when I fail |
| Beside the walls of badder shit, I run the streets and chose to stan and spit |
| Behind the gate the hater grabbin' pit |
| Chorus: (Popeye) |
| My future, my focus, paradise |
| Criminal slash pistol popper toat the badder dice |
| And if I got to be real and sank a clip below my hip to survive |
| I keep the real motherfuckers alive |
| My future, my focus, paradise |
| Criminal slash pistol popper toat the badder dice |
| And if I got to be real and sank a clip below my hip to survive |
| I keep the real motherfuckers alive |
| Verse 3 (Mac): |
| Now Check it |
| Now spill on my proverbs, I bless you, you bless the next niggas |
| Its for the best niggas believe me |
| They say money is the root of all evil |
| I say only when it’s in the clutch of the wrong people ya feel that |
| If murder is the medicine for fools who refuse to abide by the rules |
| You lose your cool then you lose your shoes |
| To every nigga in the struggle with big dreams |
| We was born with the hustle in my genes, I know it seams like we forbiddin |
| Forced in ghetto living, poverty strickin eating popeye chicken and biscuits |
| With alittle jelly for my lil belly |
| That I just can’t fill cause moma belly make the bills |
| And I know shit’s real, when we go to school just to eat meals |
| And for dinner we got sleep nigga, it’s deep nigga |
| With that you got that whole world against ya |
| Bitch ass nigga have you forgoten god sent ya |
| Whoaaaaaa |